Magic Knows No Boundaries But Those We Believe In
by NeverGonnaStop
Summary: Harry Potter liked his new life as a professional Seeker. With Voldemort nothing more than a bad memory he thought his life was finally his own. Waking up in an alternate universe where Tommy still ran amok killed what little optimism he'd discovered since the war ended. But he'll be damned if he wasn't going to eek out a life of his own choosing regardless of fate's interference.
1. 1: A Stolen Hero

**Magic Knows No Boundaries**

 _Magic Knows No Boundaries is a fanfiction written by C osette-Aimee. It was originally published on August 28th, 2006 and abandoned as of February 8, 2008._

 _Several authors, such as Celillia and Sir Jinx Alot, have attempted to rewrite the story, all unsuccessfully. The difference between them and I is that I will actually be rewriting the story instead of simply republishing it. I will be making many changes to the original story but will keep most of the ideas and plot, mostly making additions, not subtractions, from Cosette-Aime's work._

 _Enjoy._

 _- NeverGonnaStop_

* * *

 **Chapter 1:**

 **A Stolen Hero**

* * *

Harry awoke on a surface significantly harder, and significantly more wet than he was used to.

Past experience with Quidditch related accidents leading him to wake up in uncomfortable positions with debilitating injuries didn't come without a bit of wisdom. He very slowly and very carefully checked his body for injuries, one body part at a time. He closed both hands into fists, wiggled his toes and from there worked his way inward, testing each limbs' ability to twist, bend and turn without unnatural crunching sounds.

He kept his eyes closed throughout the entire ordeal, paying close attention to every sensation. It wasn't until he risked moving his neck that the first sign of injury reared its ugly head.

"Ohhhhhhhhhh wow!" He moaned as his skull swam and his heartbeat made itself audible.

He tried to remember what he did the night before. As far as he could recall all he did was fly the usual obstacle course and practice the Wronski Feint a few times before turning in for the night. He saw no reason for him to wake up in a grassy field covered in fresh, sticky, morning dew with his head feeling like he'd arrived for practice flat-out drunk and suffered an accident involving a failed Feint attempt.

He considered the possibility that he may have actually crashed into the ground during a death defying dive and dreamt about returning home and snuggling into bed, but was only now regaining consciousness. It sure would show him not to practice alone ever again. This idea was dashed when he realized that it wasn't the grass of the Falmouth Falcons' Quidditch pitch currently tickling his neck and ears.

The lack of stadium stands and quaffle hoops was the first hint. The cows were the second.

"Oh. Hello there." He greeted the especially obese bull pawing at the earth next to him.

Harry wondered if the horned beast could even see him through the mange of fur covering its face. He further wondered if highland cows were originally a pack of golden retrievers or irish setters that some cynophobic witch or wizard transfigured into cattle and just used for husbandry from there. He liked that idea. He'd have to write Xenophilius to make an article from that theory.

He ignored the bulls' warning snort as he got to his feet with another groan.

Taking a deep breath he expanded his senses and tried to ignore the splitting headache. He couldn't feel any magic in his surroundings, not even the echoes of a portkey or recently cast spell of any kind. In fact, aside from the bulls internal debate about the merits of trampling him, he could sense no danger and all seemed right with the world.

Deciding there was no benefit to tangling with the beast next to him he apparated away.

* * *

And immediately regretted his decision as a fit of dizziness and nausea joined his migrain in a conspiracy to ruin his day.

He steadied himself against the entrance to Diagon Alley as he caught his breath again. The brick wall was already opened into the familiar archway, which was strange enough, but the red robed figures on either side of the entrance closely watching him was fast making this his fourth worst visit to Diagon Alley.

"Ah, youth. I miss the days when I could risk risk drinking on Sunday nights and jog the hangover off before work." Said the older Auror with a sigh that was both nostalgic and mocking.

"I'm only nineteen!" Harry retorted, picking himself up. "I can jog it off just fine. I just don't feel like it."

With his indignation expressed Harry walked past the two guards into the nearly vacant street intent on visiting Florean Fortescue. Food would do him a lot of good right now. He patted himself down in an effort to dredge up some loose change from his rhobesd and soon held up a fistfull of coins in triumph. The small sense of accomplishment vanished at the sight of a boarded up parlor.

The sparse crowd he originally attributed to the early hour took on a more sinister vibe. Small groups of shoppers skirted nervously between what few stores were open with nary a conversation or hint of laughter. As he watched he noticed that those around him didn't bother to greet him, or each other, as they passed. It all reminded him of Voldemort's return a few years ago.

It was still only his third worst experience visiting Diagon Alley.

Deciding to catch up on what he missed during his impromptu nap he made his way back to the Diagon Alley entrance and, ignoring the heckling aurors, entered the Leaky Cauldron. Tom was upon Harry before his bum even hit the chair.

"Anything I can get you?" The normally friendly hunchback grunted. "Sir." He added as an afterthought.

"Beer." Harry demanded simply.

The bald man raised a judgemental eyebrow at this. It _was_ rather early after all.

"Hair of the dog that bit me and all that." Harry explained. "And a plate of bacon, sausage and eggs. Extra bacon and sausage, please."

Harry placed the loose change from his pocket on the table and Tom was off to the kitchen with a scoff. Since when was Tom so rude? Had Harry done something to offend the man? Was he mad that Harry hadn't eaten there in, what, three months now? That didn't seem like him.

Tom returned with a glass mug of beer and Harry took it with a smile. He motioned for Tom to stay as he practically inhaled the liquid in long, slow gulps. The landlord/innkeeper/barman looked visibly impressed when Harry handed the mug back to him.

"More please." Harry asked with his winning smile.

Tom finally showed off his missing teeth with that grin Harry was used too and returned to the kitchens.

"And a newspaper please." Harry called after him. "Anything other than the Prophet."

Tom waved in acknowledgement as he disappeared behind the counter and through the doors beyond, returning moments later with another mug of beer in one hand, the plate of food Harry ordered in the other, and a newspaper under his arm. Harry thanked Tom again as the man placed everything on the table.

"How much do I owe you?"

"Three galleons."

Harry stared at the man, careful to keep his face blank. He didn't seem to be joking.

Two galleons? For breakfast, a couple beers and a newspaper? It wasn't the most expensive meal he'd ever had, having eaten at fancy restaurants charging ten times as much. But still. Last time he'd been here he payed four sickles for dinner. A dinner with much more food and much, much more beer.

"Here you go sir." Harry said, handing the barkeep a whole fourth of the money on him. "And how much for a room for the night?"

"One galleon."

Harry gave him that too and dug into his food.

Now he knew what it felt like to be Meroped(A euphemism he himself popularized meaning _'ripped off'_ ).

If that shakedown didn't make this the second worst visit to Diagon Alley in his life, the date on the newspaper certainly did. He had difficulty reading the headline, what with the front page being soaked in the beer and spittle he'd just sprayed it with in surprise. Either Tom had handed him a four year old newspaper or his life of traveling with groupies as a quidditch rock star had come to an abrupt end. And judging by the condition of the newspaper, ignoring the damage he himself had caused it, he doubted it was the former case.

 **Assassination of Amelia Bones Averted**

Harry rifled through the pages only bothering to read the headlines of the various articles. Phrases and terms like ' _Many Dead_ ' and ' _Death Eaters_ ' and ' _He-who-must-not-be-named_ ' jumped out at him, but none as strongly as 'Child of Prophecy.'

"That's a new one." He muttered to himself.

Harry thought he'd heard them all. Boy-Who-Lived. Chosen One. Man-Who-Conquered. These are the titles he knew. Perhaps the article would enlighten him and why they were calling him by the new moniker.

 _Scene's of Terror at the Ministry of Magic as a large group of Death Eaters attacked the press conference held by our Savior, Neville Longbottom, colloquially known as 'The Child of Prophecy'._

 _Thanks to the valiant efforts of his auror guard who gave their lives during the attack, Mr. Longbottom survived the ordeal unscathed._

Harry had to put the paper down as his migraine returned with a vengeance.

Okay. He could rule out Time travel.

Thinking things over he probably could have ruled it out from the Amelia Bones article. In his timeline, which probably wasn't the correct term, Voldemort and his Death Eaters didn't start any offensive for another year yet, and Susan's aunt lived for another year after that. So what did that leave him with?

He rubbed his temples as he considered his situation, leaving any planning by the wayside as he brainstormed.

Time travel was definitely a part of what was going on here. He was, after all, stuck four years in the past. But it wasn't his past. How does that make any sense at all?

Maybe somebody else played around with time travel and made some changes further back in time, and he was stuck in this new timeline? That made more sense. After all if Neville was 'T _he Chosen One_ ' in this timeline then odds are Harry wasn't around. Or at least he hoped he wasn't, he'd prefer to be parentless than have to visit his parents in Saint Mungo's like Neville did. The mere idea of growing up in Neville's shoes made him yearn for the days when he slept under a staircase.

He tried to invent a scenario where time travel would have resulted in his current predicament. His history of increasingly unlikely and nonsensical events had gifted him with an active imagination when it came to such things.

Maybe somebody stunned him in his sleep, kidnapped him for a trip to the past hoping to make him watch his own death as a baby? Knowing his luck he probably fell out of the time machine a fifth of the way into the trip and wound up four years into the past instead of nineteen. The hypothetical culprit would have finished the trip and killed him or his parents before he was born. The problem with this theory was the premise that somebody, anybody, could sneak up on him in his sleep.

A more likely scenario was that the culprit went back in time without him, performed the dark deed and the Fates decided to transport him to the new timeline instead of letting him be obliterated with the rest of his original timeline. That sounded like something the Fates would do.

He went over the wording of the prophecy for what must have been the ten thousandth time.

' _Either must die at the hand of the other_ ' could preclude time travel mischief from killing him. Even if somebody successfully prevented him from being born he'd just jump timelines. This possibility brought up a whole host of questions. Did this make him completely immune to the consequences of meddling with time? The Marauder in him was coming up with oh so many dangerous and immoral(no to mention very illegal) schemes involving a time turner.

Best not to tempt it. Especially since he couldn't be sure it even was time travel that landed him here. Odds are he was missing something.

He went back and properly read the articles in the newspaper as he finished his meal and ordered a third beer. Apparently Voldemort never fell from power like he did in the original timeline. His reign of terror had continued nonstop and England was hurting because of it. Especially economically. The import market was one of his favorite targets, which explained the high price of his meal. The lack of feed for cows meant meat was worth its weight in gold here.

Could he get away with going back and stealing that bull from earlier? Probably wasn't worth the risk. He'd hate to be the first person lynched for cattle theft since the wild west calmed down.

A lot of the information on this timeline didn't line up and when he returned to the article on Neville the mystery of why Harry was brought here became clear.

"Ohhhh blast it all." He groaned as he banged his head on the table.

Neville had no scar on his forehead. Or mark of any kind. He was very obviously not the child of prophecy.

This new detail explained everything. This wasn't time travel mischief, and it wasn't a fever hallucination. This was an alternate universe. One without a child of prophecy. Whatever powers that controlled these things decided to reach across the void and steal one from another universe. Him.

"Magic knows no boundaries except those we believe in." He quoted as he banged his head on the table some more.

Just when he thought he'd finally settled into his new life and left the suffering caused by Voldemort and Dumbledore and the Ministry behind him, now he'd have to do it aaaaaallllll over again.

This was officially his worst visit Diagon Alley EVER! The hellacious experience of breaking into, and out of, Gringotts and the bareback dragon ride afterwards didn't come close.

He hoped he was wrong. He hoped that this universe, or timeline, had a differently worded prophecy that would require him to take a minor role, Maybe help train Neville as his replacement?

Knowing his luck though he wouldn't come close to returning to his own world until after he fulfilled the prophecy. Again.

Deciding to leave worrying about what he needed to do for tomorrow he flagged Tom back over to his table.

"I'm going to need more beer." He said. "A lot more beer."


	2. 2: A Much Better Day

**Chapter 2:**

 **A Much Better Day**

* * *

Harry woke up experiencing two of the three best feelings in the world.

Going to sleep with a headache/cold and waking up without one was the first. Going to bed drunk and waking up, not with a hangover, but instead a slight buzz was the second. Sadly, he had no job and was well rested enough to attack the day, so he couldn't experience the joy of going right back to sleep with the knowledge that he still had hours left before work. The third best feeling in the world.

He did, however, have a long list of things to do if he wanted to have a place to sleep in two days and so with a wistful sigh he stretched and dressed himself.

A few waves of his hand later and the clothes he wore the day before flattened themselves as if freshly ironed and the specks of dirt and dust vanished. Another wave of his hand and the slight stubble on his jaw vanished. He waited until he scarfed down the complimentary loaf of bread before casting a cleaning charm on his teeth and tongue then exited his room.

Diagon Alley was much more crowded today but was still a far cry from how it should be. This was especially true considering Hogwarts letters had gone out yesterday and what shoppers he saw were clearly new and returning students. Mostly new students.

He dodged and weaved between the crowds of parents, muggle and wizard alike, as if their children were a horde of bewitched knife-keys trying to rip him to shreds. He didn't hate children, and honestly how could anybody, he just didn't dare risk an encounter with any of his former classmates or their parents. If his math was right, he figured most were only now turning fifteen. That four-year difference in age felt like four decades, and yet he knew he wouldn't be able to keep a cool exterior if he were to meet anyone he knew to be deceased.

He was almost upon the Gringotts bank doors when he realized he couldn't enter.

Well, he could, but he wouldn't live for very long. Goblins weren't very open-minded nor forgiving creatures, and if he walked in with his bank key, which in all likelihood had an identical twin in this world, then an army of serrated knife wielding warriors would descend upon him and feed whatever quivering ribbons of flesh remained of the ' _counterfeiter_ ' to the army of kappa they kept hidden in the more watery areas of their caverns beneath London. He probably wouldn't have even made it to the first teller.

What did that leave him?

He had no money beyond the loose change he carried. His vault key was a liability, one he intended to throw away at the first opportunity. He had no friends, family or coworkers to loan him money. To top it all off he was too upstanding of a citizen to break into places he knew would be easy targets and steal everything not bolted to the ground.

He needed to make a friend. Harry needed to find somebody that he could not only convince of his nature as a visitor from another world, but who would furthermore be willing to help him AND wouldn't share his secret or prove to be a danger to him upon learning it. The list of potential allies was thin indeed.

"Johnathan! Don't wave that thing around!" A woman, obviously muggle, chastised her son. "You don't know what it might do.

The boy, Johnathan, was a soon to be first year and had been playing with his newly purchased wand. His mother was right to stop him. Waving a wand, even without intent or incantations, was a one way ticket to the hospital.

He watched as a group of three families and their collective litter of four eleven year olds entered the same shop that Johnny and his sensible mother just exited. He considered the gold lettering above the door and tried his hardest to think of a more trustworthy person in the world who he could convince of his situation. He realized there wasn't one.

Ollivander was on top of his game today and had already situation the first child, a particularly short blonde boy, with a sixteen inch wand that he would hopefully grow into. Waving around a wand that's almost a third as long as you are tall looked rather ridiculous.

"There you have it, mister Zeller. And if your sister would come on up here." Ollivander said kindly.

Harry looked and recognized the young Rose Zeller. He vaguely remembered her as a Hufflepuff who had helped Hermione evacuate the house elves during the battle of Hogwarts. She was one of only three students who Hermione managed to kowtow into joining SPEW.

Rose hopped up to the counter where Ollivanders floating measuring tape got to work as he wrote down the results. As he did this Harry stretched out his senses again and felt as his magic flooded into his surroundings.

He could feel every piece of soft fabric on the bodies around him, every hard edge of furniture and deep groove of engraved metal as if they were all his own skin. This was his greatest power, one he had developed unknowingly and by pure accident during his hunt for horcruxes and later evolved into something altogether new. His ability to sense Voldemort's magic grew into the ability to sense magic and then the physical properties of things in general. He could even recall recent event in an area or which an object he held had experienced.

Parvati thought it was psychometry. Lavender argued it was clairvoyance. Hermione had a stranger theory still, but Harry knew it wasn't a psychic ability, per se, it was just a magical technique like occlumency or legilimency(which is what he was _TRYING_ to learn when he invented the art.) He still had no name for it, but it was damned useful all the same.

He tuned out the breathing and heartbeats of those around him, which was always so loud in his ears when he used the technique, and lightly touched the piles upon piles of wands behind the counter with his magic. Wands felt hot to his senses, like the active coals of a grill, but he kept on in search of one that suited Rose the most. The funny thing about wands is that the magic internal to them tends to point towards the magic internal to those around them, as if reaching out to touch their master. Sadly this only happens if their master was in close enough proximity.

More than two dozen wands were doing this now, not just towards Rose, but towards her brother, her father, the other children and every magical person in the room. Several of them matched Rose' signature to varying degrees, but the strongest reaction to her came from a short wand with the fiery magic of a phoenix tail feather three aisles back.

"Hmm. I think we should try something with cedar wood to start for you." Ollivander said to the girl as he pulled a wand from the stack directly beneath the counter.

Harry knew the wands beneath the counter were created for the sole purpose of being ' _test wands_ '. He used them to narrow down what type of wand a customer was most suited to before hunting down the proper wand from the back. The test wands could be used as a regular wand, theoretically, but they didn't tend to last long.

"I can save you the trouble." Harry offered, gaining the eyes of everyone in the room. "Four inches. Alder wood. Phoenix feather core. Three rows back."

Few people have experienced the full force of Garrick Ollivanders' glare. Harry was one of those few, and even he had difficulty not buckling beneath it despite having earned it eight going on nine times.

"I'm going to have to ask you to wait outside of my shop while I fit my customers." Ollivander said coolly, before growling a vindictive. "Sir."

Harry smiled confidently, no, arrogantly but did as he was told.

"Call me back in when I'm proven right." He said offhandedly as he exited the shop and stood to the side.

He didn't have to wait long. Exactly eighty seconds later the Zeller family exited the shop. He couldn't help noticing that Rose carried the exact wand he described. The smiling girl even went so far as to show it off to him by wiggling it.

"Hey now, be careful with that thing. It's dangerous." Harry told Rose, returning her smile.

She pocketed the wand with a giggle as her father approached him.

"He wants you back in there, but he's not happy."

Harry thanked the Zeller patriarch and prepared to re-enter the shop.

He mentally went through his checklist before turning the handle. Chin up. Shoulders back. Chest out. Aaaaaaand STRUT!

Based on the tenth glare he'd ever received from the wand maker Harry would call his effort a raging success. The two remaining children and their parents stifled their laughter as he entered, adding fuel to the fire behind the old man's eyes.

"How'd you do that?" Ollivander demanded.

Harry shrugged.

"I tend to just..." Harry paused dramatically to tap his forehead. "Know things."

Harry noted the familiar vein popping out of his old friends' jaw as he clenched his teeth. Maybe it was time to reel in his attempts at instigating his senior.

"I can try to do it for these two if you like?" Harry offered, correcting his posture into one a bit more deferential.

Ollivander motioned towards the two children and Harry repeated his earlier action of searching the rows of wands with his mind. Thirty seconds later two groups of satisfied customers exited the store, leaving Harry alone with the shop owner.

Harry waited for his gracious host to break the silence and he didn't disappoint.

"Well? Did you just come in here to embarrass me, or did you want something?"

In answer Harry withdrew a wand from his robes, one of the two he carried at all times. He offered it to Ollivander handle first, who took it in the manner of a smith taking a sword for examination.

"Holly." Ollivander observed, carefully listing the wands properties. "Eleven inches and a core of phoenix..."

He locked eyes with Harry, who had to fight the smirk threatening to erupt on his face. It wouldn't do for Ollivander to think him a thief. Harry nodded his head towards the stacks of wands in the direction he knew an identical wand to his own sat.

Ollivander left the original on the counter and disappeared to where Harry indicated. He returned with a box that he handled with shaking hands. Harry hadn't seen the man so nervous since the time he showed him the elder wand. Good thing he hadn't pull that one out on accident.

Harry sat down on the bench as he waited for the wandmaker to compare them. This took a lot longer than it should have. After comparing them visually and by touch he went through a list of pretty much every spell Hogwarts taught. One by one he compared how both wands performed each spell. When he was finally satisfied in the knowledge that the wands were indeed identical he turned to Harry and stared for some time.

"How?"

Harry stood up and took a deep breath. He knew that nothing but the truth would suffice, but he still didn't look forward to it.

"Tell me Garrick. What do you know about multiverse theory?"

Ollivander, with a speed that belied his age, drew the recently unboxed wand and with a few waves layered no fewer than 6 locking spells, 5 privacy spells, 3 wards and a partridge and a pear tree on the front door. Harry took this time to close the blinds.

"Explain." He demanded.

"My name is Harry James Potter. I'm the son of James Potter and Lily Potter nee Evans from an alternate universe. I don't even know if they or I exist in this one."

"They do. You don't."

"Good! Voldemort murdered my parents when I was a baby and tried, but failed, to kill me. In the process ' _marking me as his equal_ ' and making me the child of prophecy."

"A qualification Mister Longbottom lacks."

"Indeed. And until 1994 we lived in a mostly Voldemort and Death Eater free world. He was still around but without a body, long story. That didn't stop him and others from making my first four years at Hogwarts hell. He returned and slowly began to rebuild his forces. I witnessed his rebirth and tried to blow the whistle, unfortunately our Minister of Magic at the time was one Cornelius Fudge."

"Oh no!"

"Oh yes! And for the next year he, most of the ministry and the Daily Prophet ran a massive smear campaign against me, Dumbledore and anybody who took our side. I'm skipping a lot here but he conquered the ministry, my friends and I had to go into hiding but continued the good fight until I finally killed him. We rebuilt, I became a Quidditch star, woke up in this universe yesterday. It was 1999 in the universe I left."

They returned to their staring contest. It took less than a minute to share his story, even with Ollivander's excellent commentary. He did always make for a good audience to the skilled storyteller.

"If it were not for this wand, I would never have believed a word you said." He admitted, indicating the slightly more worn out stick of holly.

"I know."

The old man returned the more pristine wand to its box with a sigh, clearly still digesting the unlikely information Harry just unloaded on him.

"Stranger things have happened." Ollivander finally admitted in acceptance. "But why did you come to me instead of somebody more... substantial?"

Harry waited for Ollivander to return this universe's version of his wand back to the shelf, and explained his reasoning when he returned with a bottle of firewhisky and two shot glasses.

"Aside from the fact I knew I could convince you?" Harry said. "Having worked with you in the past I knew you don't share secrets. Nor would you incorporate anything I tell you into schemes or machinations."

"Dumbledore?"

"Dumbledore."

The two of them knocked the glasses back and grunted at the magical and chemical burn as the drink slid down their throats.

"Why couldn't you have just been a wand crafting prodigy who discovered how to magically duplicate wands?" Ollivander bemoaned.

Harry laughed so hard at that one he almost dropped the bottle of whisky he was trying to use to refill their glasses.

"Is that what you thought was going on?" Harry asked incredulously. "That I just, what, broke in here, duplicated this wand, memorized your stock and did it all without your knowing?"

Ollivander could only shrug as he accepted the second glass.

"That or time travel. Either would have made my life a whole lot easier." He admitted before drinking the second shot. "What did we work on together?"

"Experiments involving the twin cores of mine and Voldemort's wands." Harry explained. "And the Elder wand."

That got him moving. Before Harry's very eyes a safe appeared in the wall. After performing a complicated set of wand movements, putting in a combination code and pressing his thumb into a muggle fingerprint scanner Garrick withdrew a large sack of what could only be magical coinage.

"This is my entire life savings. If you give me the memories of our experiments in your timeline it's all yours."

That was exactly how Harry expected this interaction to go. Minus the fingerprint scanner.

"I'll do you one better. I'll give you all of those memories AND help you with some new experiments." He indicated his wand on the counter with one hand and pointed in the direction of its' counterpart. "We have the opportunity to investigate an otherwise impossible scenario where two completely identical wands interact and are loyal to the same person."

Ollivander offered a hand to shake.

"You have yourself a deal."

"I have one further condition!" Harry said, refusing the hand. "I am only borrowing this money. I will be giving it back to you under the condition that I get a percentage ownership of your future endeavors. You'll need some funding to do proper experiments and apply the knowledge I'm giving you anyways."

Ollivander actually had to consider that. Harry knew giving partial ownership of his company, no matter how small, would be much harder for the pure-blood than trading his retirement savings. He'd never done it before, despite several accommodating and generous offers. But none of them could offer what Harry was now.

"Also deal."

And this time Harry did shake the hand he offered.

"Now I'm gonna have to take this to Gringotts. But I need you to hold on to this in the meantime." Harry handed Ollivander his vault key. "That is the key to the Potter family vault."

Ollivander examined it closely.

"Why would you want me to hold onto... Wait. Nevermind. Stupid question."

Harry could only laugh at his friend as he reopened the safe and hid the key inside. Harry had broke off from asking stupid questions of his own often enough to relate. His laughter died as Ollivander dropped a signet ring on the counter in place of his key.

"What's this?"

"That is my signature stamp." The wand maker answered. "Unless you're planning to contact James and convince him to adopt you, you can't go around using your own name. Until such time as you come up with a new one, you can sign any important documents or purchases with this and claim to be doing errands for me."

Harry nodded as he secured the ring on his pinky.

"They send the documents to me to get a proper signature afterwards so don't go doing anything stupid or illegal with it!" The old man warned.

Harry had the decency to at least act offended at the insinuation.

* * *

Harry exited Ollivanders' weighed down with nearly two thousand galleons. Even with the enchantments on goblin money to make it nearly weightless his belt could barely tolerate the weight of the sack.

He had more than enough money to purchase the blood testing he needed almost fifty times over again, assuming the price of Gringotts' services hadn't inflated along with everything else. That wasn't an assumption Harry was willing to make. At least he had something to put in his new vault if the tests didn't come up with anything, and this nest egg would go a long way to getting his new life established.

As he walked towards the massive marble bank he finally took stock of shops that weren't boarded up, making a mental list of the things he'd need to purchase from them. Flourish and Blotts was doing good business but Gambol and Japes was absolutely booming with activity. After all, dark times called for good humor. He passed the same group of first year children from before coming out of the magical menagerie with matching toads and identical smiles. He waved at them as he passed and the Zeller children positively bounced as they waved back.

Harry froze at Eeylops Owl Emporium.

He must have stared at that door for five whole minutes at the epiphany that struck him dumb. It was a crazy idea, and the odds were almost impossible, but he simply had to know.

He entered the empty shop and the same manager as his timeline looked up from whatever he was reading.

"Welcome sir. What can I do for you?" The manager greeted

Harry nodded in way of a hello and hesitated to ask his question.

"I'm looking for an owl." He said.

The manager beamed at him. Business must be slow.

"You're in luck. We happen to sell owls here!" He said in all good humor. "If you'd come on into the back we can find the right one for you."

"Actually." Harry interrupted with a staying wave of his hand. "I'm looking for a very specific owl."

The manager looked him up and down before giving indicating he should continue.

"I'm looking for a female snow owl. She would be around five years old, maybe a bit older. She has bright amber eyes and is rather irritable."

The manager stared at him some more. Somehow Harry doubted the old man had ever heard such a detailed description from a new customer.

"That _was_ very specific." The manager verified. "And until very recently I had exactly the owl you just described."

Harry's heart sank at the news.

"Well. Thank you anyways. I don't suppose you'd be willing to write a letter to the customer you sold it to on my behalf, would you?"

The manager shook his head and Harry's heart sank even further. If the day became anymore of a disappointment he'd have to dig it out of the ground.

"I didn't sell her." The manager said. "I tried to for years, but nobody would take her. Last year I found out she was mixed with something magical and handed her off to Sarah at the Magical Menagerie hoping she'd have better luck."

Harry barely managed to utter a proper 'thank you' as he ran as fast as he could through the exit, entering the much more noisy shop moments later.

He waited for the saleswoman, a young witch with short, curly auburn hair. Harry didn't need to expand his senses to feel the heat rising to her cheeks or increase in her heart rate as she approached. He only now realized his face was plastered with a smile of purse joy. He needed to be more careful about showing off his teeth like that, he didn't want to cause accidents with it. It's happened before.

"Um. Excuse me." Harry said, trying to put on a more professional air. "I'm looking for a magical snowy owl I'm told you have in stock."

"Oh! Are you sure?" The saleswoman, Nichole according to her name tag, backtracked. "She's a bit... temperamental."

"That's definitely her!" Harry confirmed, his smile returning.

Nichole mimicked the manager from Eyelops in skeptically glancing him up and down before relenting. She led him through the towering stacks of cages for several minutes in silence, or as close to silence as things can get in this particular store. Harry had never been this deep into the warehouse sized menagerie and would have otherwise been oblivious to how gargantuan it was.

"Here we are." Nichole announced as the enter a more open area.

The large stacks of cages parted around a desk on which a single golden cage sat.

Harry fought back the tears at the sight of what sat inside the cage. It wasn't the tears of joy he expected to shed at seeing her, and how could he be happy to see his magnificent friend hunched over, eyes staring at the ground instead of skyward where she belonged? If there were such a thing as a hunchbacked owl, Hedwig looked rather close to being one, and the lack of exercise over the years had plumped her up into an unhealthy shape. That shape being round.

"Oh no, what have they done to you Hedwig?" He whispered as he approached the desk and kneeled beside her cage.

She didn't even look up at him as he approached, but nor did she shuffle away on her perch. It made sense that she wouldn't recognize the name, as did her sequestering away from the other animals. The owl had never gotten along well with other animals, feathered or no. And as Harry listened to the screeching, squeaking and squawking of the veritable zoo around them the reason for Hedwig's deep depression became rather obvious.

"How much?" Harry asked without looking up at the young saleswoman.

"Um. Are you sure you want her?"

"How. Much." He repeated pointedly, still examining Hedwig's plumage, which was blessedly healthy and clean.

"Oh. I think we charge eighteen galleons for jobberknolls, and she's only a quarter, so she'd come out to twelve galleons."

He reached into the heavy sack on his waist and handed the witch the money. Harry opened the wretched cage as soon as she started counting the coinage. Only then did Hedwig look up at him.

"Come on, girl." He said, putting his forearm out near the cage door for her to jump onto. "I'm busting you out of here."

Hedwig blinked at him in confusion. Her head flicked down to his arm and back to his face several times as she considered him with obvious confusion. He knew her to be suspicious and uncooperative at the best of times, and this was decidedly not the best of times.

Eventually she did hop along her cage and onto his outstretched arm and it went a long way to helping him overcome his disappointment at her lack of recognition.

"Oooh, you're heavy." He grumbled as he lifted the owl up to his face.

"Yeah." Nichole said. "We tried to put her on a diet several times but it always ended in disaster."

Harry could only snort at that. Yeah. Hedwig didn't do diets. When she'd gotten unhealthily large in his fourth year from all the bacon he'd been feeding her he had to start helping her exercise. He even managed to train her in several flying formations on the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch with the book on eagle training he'd dug up in the library. He doubted that same routine would work on her this time. Could she even fly anymore?

His good humor vanished as Hedwig returned to her earlier posture of staring blankly at the ground. He buried his face in her plumage like he used to on particularly rough days. She reacted by standing at full height, holding her head away from him. It was a posture that showed clear discomfort, and Harry imagined any one of his other friends would react in a similar way if he came right up to them and gave them such an emotional embrace. He didn't care. Even if it was just for a second he needed to breath in the familiar smell of her feathers and convince himself this was real.

"If you would kindly follow me so we can fill out the bill of sale and transfer ownership to you."

"I would like that." Harry said, removing his face from the part-jobberknolls' chest.

They were nearly upon the front desk and register when he paused and glanced around the shop. Against all odds he had found his favorite animal in the world, one he had seen die in his. The likelihood that his second favorite animal yet lived was much more favorable.

"Crookshanks?" He called out more questioningly than demandingly.

He turned to look at the sound of padded feed on wood and saw the familiar bottlebrush tail descend from a stack of crates near the front door. The part kneazle walked up to him as if they were already acquainted. The feline didn't act like most cats, and followed instruction from a completely different set of instincts. It's instincts, instead of demanding rudeness at every opportunity like a normal cat, commanded it to obey instruction from those who were trustworthy, which Harry was.

"I'll be taking him too."

Ollivander's signature stamp was a godsend, as no amount of galleons would have earned him ownership of the two animals without naming the new owner. It broke Harry's heart to give somebody else temporary ownership of the two animals, but he'd transfer the deeds to himself at the first opportunity.

"Will you need a cage or kennel for them?"

"Nope."

Twenty one galleons lighter Harry made to exit the store.

"Come on you two. I'm taking you home." Harry commanded them. "You've been kept waiting long enough."

Crookshanks followed him with ease, and neither made a single complaint or sign of intention to run off on their own as they walked down Diagon Alley. Harry took them straight back to the Leaky Cauldron intent on spending the rest of the day with them.

His business with Gringotts could wait.


	3. 3: Work

**Chapter 3:**

 **Work**

* * *

Harry spent the rest of that day playing with his animal companions.

His attempts at exercising Hedwig boiled down to playing fetch with a foam ball he bought for the occasion. He'd never seen an owl run after a ball before. It was oddly adorable. The experiment certainly answered his question on whether or not she could fly anymore. He later cast a weight reduction charm on her but that only served to spook her and make his forearms resemble the Shrieking Shacks' wallpaper.

Neither were particularly fond of cuddling and so they slept apart. In time he knew crookshanks would come around to sleeping on his feet, but like any other cat he was nervous in new environments.

Sadly he had to leave early the next morning as per his agreement with Garick.

"All right. I left you both enough food to last several days, so I expect to come home to two fully alive animals." He told them. "That means no eating each other."

They both stared at him stupidly. Despite being rather brilliant animals, they were still just animals.

"Okay. Goodbye."

He closed the door and made to lock it, but thinking better of it he opened the door again and interrupted a glaring contest the two started in his absence. A few charms later and their claws and teeth/beak were left as dull as a troll. They could settle their differences all they wanted now and Harry could be confident that when he next saw them their worst injuries will be a couple bruises.

* * *

He spent his third day in this new world manning the counter to Ollivander's shop. He agreed to take over until such time Garick finished studying his memories. Which Harry knew would take several weeks of full time effort on the old man's part.

On the positive side of things, sorting wands to new students was both fun and easy.

Most of the new students waited a day or two after getting their letters before coming to Diagon Alley, especially the Muggleborns whose parents justifiably worried they were being pranked. Harry spotted several Hogwarts professors escorting families towards Gringotts after a short tour of the alley before vanishing to pick up another family and repeat the process.

He supposed they only took the families that far so they could exchange the currency and work through buying the list of supplies on their own. He imagined it would be one incredible experience making your way through the wizarding market with your parents, like a right of passage. All of you discovering the wizarding world together. He didn't harass the students or their muggle parents to ask them about it. He knew they'd be getting those same questions from other shopkeepers and he didn't want to be a nuisance.

Oddly enough he got more returning students than new ones. Some came in to use a self service wand waxer that Harry somehow never noticed sitting in the corner, others came to check if there was a better match for them in the new stock of wands - something Harry would never have dreamed of checking for himself- and others still came in for replacements or spares.

None bothered to ask him who he was or why Ollivander wasn't manning the counter. Harry assumed that they all made their own assumptions regarding his identity and relationship to Garick. He was happy to remain ignorant of their inner thoughts.

The only real shock he received was when Bellatrix Lestrange walked right in the front door.

At first he thought it was Andromeda, having mistaken her for Bellatrix when they first met. This world's Bellatrix looked even more like her sister. Her clothes were clean, her hair was combed and she looked... well... Sane.

"Good morning." She greeted noncommittally before tossing her wand on the counter without a care.

"Good morning! How may I help you today, miss..." Harry waved for her to introduce herself.

"Miss will do just fine." She said. "And I was hoping you could repair my wand."

Harry picked up and eyed the wand - more like a club in appearance - but there was no physical indication of damage.

"And what is wrong with it?"

"Lately it has been..." She paused to think. "Disobedient."

Don't imagine her as a dominatrix. Don't imagine her as a dominatrix. Must. Not. Imagine her as a dominatrix!

"What's a dominatrix?"

Oh no! Is she in my head?

"Young man, you are speaking out loud."

Well that cinches it. She knows too much. She must die.

"Bring it on you scrawny little ponce. Wandless and starkers I can take you on any day of the week."

"Well then. Let me take a closer look at this disobedient wand of yours and see if I can find your problem." He sidestepped, liking this version of Bellatrix more and more.

It took all of two milliseconds to find the issue once he stretched his magical senses. But he used this opportunity to examine the woman across from him. No dark mark. That was interesting. She still had a decidedly dark aura though, but so do many law abiding witches and wizards. She was still very much a fighter and probably a killer. Her wand testified to such. He could feel the litany of curses, killing and otherwise, to have passed through the wand in recent days.

"Well I found the issue." He told her as he gingerly placed her wand back on the counter. "It's good you brought it in when you did. I recommend getting a permanent replacement."

"Why? What's wrong with it."

"Do you know what a wand blockage is?"

She shook her head.

"Imagine a pipe."

"Okay."

"The kind that carries water."

"Got it."

"Now imagine the pipe bulging at a spot because of too much pressure. That's kind of what's happening inside of your wand. There's a buildup of magic inside of it. Whenever you cast a spell the blockage absorbs some or all of it, or counters it completely."

Bellatrix nodded inquisitively.

"That explains why my spells have been weaker as of late. Is there a way to clear the blockage?"

Harry winced at the question.

"Yes, but it's dangerous. I've seen it happen twice. One time I saw a wand clear the blockage by explosively casting golden flames. It was like a superpowered spell and was pretty amazing." He explained, leaving out the fact that it was his wand that did this along with his wand acting of its own will, as some phoenix feather wands tend to do. "Another time I saw a wand clear the blockage by explosively backfiring a killing curse on the caster. It was very awesome, just not for the caster."

The difference with that situation was that the Elder Wand is supposed to have magical blockage along its length. It was one of the defining principles of how the wand worked. It had five such blockages. One for transfiguration, one for curses, one for charms, one for healing spells and one for counterspells or defensive magic. There were actual knots in the thestral hair running along its length tied around splinters of different types of wood. A Fir splinter for the transfiguration knot, an Elm splitter for charms, Yew for curses, Willow for healing spells, and Rowan for protective magic and counterspells.

Whoever designed the Elder Wand was a genius. Each knot would charge when a spell of another knots' type was used and only expel the buildup when a spell of its type was cast. Harry came to call it the Gambler's Wand because in order to get the best results you'd have to cycle through the spell types in the same order each time and hope your opponent didn't pick up on this trend. If they did they could just wait for a harmless healing spell to mount a proper offensive. Dumbledore was good at using spells that always looked like offensive spells and in creatively using the transfiguration or healing slot and predicting the right time to use a counter.

To design a wand to use what most would consider a dangerous flaw and not just design around it, but incorporate that flaw as a core feature was the epitome of brilliance. And this was just one of the features unique to the Elder Wand.

Of course if you kept using the same type of spell, or the same exact spell, over and over again you'd overload the particular knot and probably die. That was the only reason Harry survived that battle with Voldemort. The fact that he was the Elder Wands true master made backfiring even more likely when it was used against him, which seemed like something Dumbledore would have planned for.

"And I'm guessing it's more likely to just backfire on me?"

Oh right. Other people. Those exist. He better deal with this one.

"Most likely, yes. It's possible to remove the blockage by casting a powerful enough spell of a different type, for example some kid tries to cast a patronus and it causes a blockage. In order to cancel it out he would have to cast a dark curse of equal power." Harry explained. "And even then, it takes a lot of attempts to get right and it can be deadly."

The immaculate woman nodded thoughtfully as she stared at her wand.

"Okay. I'll need a replacement, but I want to try and repair it anyways." She concluded.

Harry made a show of raising an objecting eyebrow at her, but stretched his senses to find a match for her all the same.

"I understand if you're attached to it and don't want to let it go, but it really is liable to kill you, or worse, me."

She answered by way of shrugging.

"It's not like that. I'm just curious to see what will happen."

Harry closed up shop for the day soon after that. Ollivanders closed well before dark on most days, earlier than most shops and long before Gringotts. He tried to tell Garick he was leaving, but he probably didn't hear him, what with his head shoulders deep in a pensieve.

Somehow he'd already come to terms with the fact that most people in this world wouldn't necessarily be like they were in his. In the case of Bellatrix he was pleasantly surprised to discover what he thought was an adrenaline junkie with a proper ladylike veneer. He handled it rather well, or so he thought. Right now his greatest fear was that he might encounter somebody in this world who is reprehensibly evil but fail to act because of how much he loved them in his world, or because he worried that he might be misjudging them based on his prior experiences with their counterpart.

When he found himself chained to an uncomfortable chair across Director Ragnok with five guards pointing an assortment of spears, swords and maces at him he thanked his lucky stars that at least Goblins were the same across dimensions.

* * *

 **Responses:**

 **TBNRGIRL** wrote:

Saw this story in your Community just now, and I am very glad you have decided to rewrite it. I've come upon so many unfinished stories that it would have been a shame to watch another fade away. Thanks so much for picking it up and I can't wait to see where this ends up!

 **Response** :

For those of you who don;t know I created a community called " **Adopt a Fic** " where I add incomplete and abandoned fanfiction(or fanfiction that could have been great but had bad writing or just deserves to be stolen and expanded upon.) If you would like to try rewriting a good fanfiction, like I'm doing here. Head on over there.

And thank you **TBNRGIRL** I hope to keep you entertained.


	4. 4: Banking Troubles

**Chapter 4:**

 **Banking Troubles**

* * *

Harry watched Ragnok sift through the documents in his hands as he slowly consulted whatever information they held. He paused only to compare what he read to the devices on his desk. It was a rather nice desk. Mahogany, polished to a metallic sheen, and - most beautifully of all - providing a vast barrier between the righteously angry midget and Harry, though sadly not the armed guard keeping him in the chained chair.

His ability to stretch his senses and examine the devices, or the chains which bound him, was severely hampered by the amazing ward schema of this world's Gringotts. Entering through the front door had been like walking through several layers of molassas, vinegar and olive oil. It was a thing of beauty, so intricately weaved that Harry couldn't discern where one ward ended and another began.

He'd been so enthralled by the overpowering sensation of the Goblin magic that he failed to react in time as an army of guards descended upon him like a rugby team. A rugby team composed of especially tiny, and especially ugly, players - even by the beauty standards set by the average athlete specializing in the sport.

Resorting to using his eyes - of all thing - to examine the device he easily deduced what some of them were. Some indicated vault numbers, others loan eligibility, and one he couldn't make heads or tails of kept beeping and displaying a red light.

"What does the beeping one do?" Harry dared to ask when he gave up on figuring it out himself.

Ragnok didn't look up from his papers.

"It's an alarm to indicate when a person who has stolen from Gringotts has entered the premises." He said simply.

What? But Harry hadn't stolen from Gringotts before. Or at least not this one. So how would the wards here have recognized him? Either the records of his theft transcended dimensions or..

"The wards mark a person as a thief, and that mark stays on the person, not in a magical record kept here." Harry concluded out loud.

This time the old Goblin really did look up.

"Impressive reasoning skills." He said as he placed the documents aside. He then motioned for Harry to continue.

"I'm guessing whatever stain was placed on my magical signature cannot be removed?" Ragnok nodded. "But the wards in the bank proper can be taught to ignore it, or the stain modified if the transgression was forgiven or justified?"

"The latter." Ragnok said simply.

That certainly explained why Harry never had trouble with his own bank in his own world.

"There's just one problem." The branch director added. "The identification markers in your stain also indicates the vault number and the processing ID of the object stolen."

Harry nodded. He could see where this was going.

"The processing ID is for an object that rests soundly within the vault in question. Or so says the auditors I sent down to check."

And there was no questioning the veracity of a claim made by Goblin auditors.

"A malfunctioning ward then?" Harry offered with a grin that clearly showed even he didn't believe such a possibility.

"My thoughts exactly. Even though such a thing has never happened before. If it were only one ward malfunctioning we would have contracted you to help fix the flaw. Problem is, multiple wards are all saying impossible things, leading us to believe that they are not malfunctioning."

Harry noted the Goblin's use of the word ' _contracted_ ' to describe what would have been a much uglier form of employment.

"Tell me mister Potter. What is it that you saw fit to steal from the Lestrange vault of your universe?"

A loud ringing sound filled Harry's ears, a ringing sound that had nothing to do with the noisy contraptions in front of him and everything to do with his brain stuttering like a fax machine in his panic.

He racked his mind for some possible explanation for how they could know his name, or lineage. They hadn't taken blood from him for an inheritance test, of that he was sure. They certainly hadn't breached the tungsten missile silo vault door he called an occlumency barrier. As he eliminated possibility after possibility he was left with one, incredibly improbable solution to this riddle.

Eliminate the impossible and what you're left with, no matter how improbable, is the truth

He surprised everyone in the room with his uproarious laughter.

"You brilliant bastards!" He said between fits. "The blood tests and keys are all a sham! Your wards identify a person and their blood relations the moment they walk through that door."

That was the only explanation. Their wards recognized him as the son of James Potter, and likely Lily Evans - assuming she hadn't married in this world. That alone could be explained as him being their lost bastards son, or hidden child, but combined with the nonexistant theft, reconciliation and whatever else they had detected they must have figured out the truth. Just like he had, through process of elimination. Even time travel couldn't explain all of this impossibilities.

Ragnok returned his smile with rows of needle-like teeth and Harry knew his friendship with the old Goblin transcended dimensions.

"I assure you, Mister Potter, that they are not a sham. Our wards can only detect immediate blood relations. Providing keys and tests both give a sense of security to our customers and the funds raised from issuing them goes towards maintenance, allowing us to forego userous practices through fees, rampant stock market speculation or interest rates on credit."

Harry nodded. God, but did he ever love Goblins!

"Formalities hold power over those who believe in them." Harry repeated the ancient Goblin saying. "Or so you always told me, sir."

Ragnok leaned back and waved for the guards holding an array of weapons to his throat to stop doing so. The chains remained tightly fastened to his limbs.

"I see. So we were rather close in your world?" He said more than asked.

Harry shrugged.

"We were friends. Mostly of the Sunday brunch variety." He told the wizened banker. "Speaking of, I could kill for some chimera haggis."

His captor raised both eyebrows inquisitively.

"Could you, now? Most wizards can't stomach our food. It's a bit too flavorful for their delicate pallets." Ragnok warned him. "I've heard many a man talk a big game about liking our dishes only to disappoint."

Harry grimaced.

"People just don't seem to understand the importance of pairing food with the proper drink." He said offhandedly. "They can recognize how red wines compliments red meats and white wines compliments seafood, but can't grasp the concept of pairing beers and rums with stronger tasting foods."

It was true. The pungent smells and taste-bud nuking capabilities of chimera haggis, for instance, was easily offset by a good ale. A strong, citrus variety. The one that the Goblins made from rye bread, and roasted before fermenting like a rich, dark coffee after drowning it in grapefruit and lime served with a slice of..

"I have already called for the inheritance specialist. He is currently tending to another client and will be here shortly." Ragnok said, interrupting his reverie. "Any man capable of stomaching our food and being merry is plenty trustworthy in my book."

"Hm?" Harry said dumbly as thoughts of cucumber slices left him. "Oh right! Much appreciated."

"Am I right to feel confident in the belief that you had a good reason for stealing what you had, Mister Potter?"

Harry hesitated before answering.

"It did save a lot of lives." He admitted. "But it was still a crime and a sin. Only offset by the fact that the item was itself stolen in the first place."

That was the correct answer when discussing something as abhorrent in the race's moral code as theft.

The director leaned in and continued in almost a whisper.

"What exactly was the object you stole and for what purpose?"

Harry winced, knowing that his friend wouldn't like his answer.

"I can't tell you sir." He confessed. "I knew before coming here that it isn't in the Lestrange vault, and I honestly can't be certain if it shares the same history or importance as it did in my world. Even if it does, it may not even be in the bank at all."

Whatever object shared the ID number was in all likelihood some other heirloom in the not-so-mad woman's vault.

"If you would merely describe the object I can check." He responded, a bit too readily.

Harry stared at the diminutive banker. His stare quickly turned into a glare.

"Ragnok, if you are suggesting what I think you're suggesting then I swear by all that is holy I will reach across this desk and backhand you so hard that Meirna will feel it." He told his friend, who raised his eyebrows in fear at the sound of his mother's name. "And after she proceeds to come up here to whoop my arse for trouble, she will then proceed to whoop YOUR arse once I tell her how you offered to aid me in a theft."

The director and his entire entourage reacted predictably. Not with outrage at the threat, but by swelling with pride at the reminder of their duty and his respect for it. Again, that was the correct answer.

The chains binding Harry to the chair fell away.

"Well! It's a good thing I was suggesting no such thing. I doubt either of us would want that." Ragnok said with a nervous chuckle.

"Noooo sir!" Harry said, matching the chuckle. "I won't pretend to know how bad or desperate things are here, but I am certain another decade of Voldemort is preferable to a minute of that kind of divine wrath."

A few minutes later the head of inheritance, an even more elderly and ornately dressed Goblin than Ragnok named Inkgots, joined them in the office and made preparations for the inheritance ritual.

Harry recognized the expense and fashionability of the Goblin's clothes not as a pompous display, but as a means of honoring the more senior workers within Gringotts. It wasn't a matter of expense or even dickwaving - though Goblins were as guilty of that as any culture - but instead of recognition of his service.

The process was rather mundane. Harry merely had to write his name on a heavily enchanted and potion soaked piece of parchment with a specialized quill. The writing implement was metallic and wrote in his blood. It took exactly seven drops of the life giving liquid to write out all of the information he needed.

The use of the writers blood was the sole reason the process was legally regarded as a ritual. Harry had already done this ritual before in his own world, and it was just as mind-numingly boring the second time. The only difference this tome was his request to only check and access his maternal inheritance. It would not do for his father to get a bank notice telling of Harry's existence.

He knew his mother's line descended from a series of Squibs who escaped into the Muggle world in search of a life worth living. As such the squiggly diagram of a family tree the parchment displayed held no surprises. Centuries of either Muggle or female descendants up until this point prevented any claimants to the long unused vaults of certain wizarding families. Lack of male heirs was a huge problem for Goblin run banks. If you had a few hours to spare you could easily broach the topic with a bar hopping Goblin and they will wax on about stagnant wealth going unused and the good in the world gone undone from lack of investment and business loans as a consequence.

It especially enraged Goblins because they, like Jews, determined inheritance and lineage on the maternal side. Why the sadistic race universally despised Talmudic Judaism - as you could also discover by broaching the topic over a bar table - was beyond him. The only group Goblins hated more was the Jesuits, which Harry could definitely relate to.

The ritual eventually concluded and displayed two inheritances.

Morrigan Estate….. designated by Lord Nathaniel Gryer Morrigan of the Noble House of Morrigan, 1897

Wentforth Family….designated by Eloise Harriet Wentworth, 1980

Harry couldn't decide whether to frown or smirk. There had been more names In his world, to be sure, but one of these was new. He didn't even recognize Wentworth as a vague memory, but surmised it was yet another line wiped out by this Voldemort's pointless war.

"That is unfortunate." Inkgot allowed with a sigh.

Frown. Definitely frown.

"Why is that?" Harry demanded.

Both of the older Goblins groaned as they clearly searched for a diplomatic way to share the news.

"All liquid assets and properties of the Morrigan and Wentworth lines were seized by the Ministry in order to provide..." Ragnok paused to think of a word. "Remunerations for 'victims' of DMLE investigations that failed to lead to convictions."

Harry allowed the growl to escape his throat unimpeded. He knew openly fuming at the Ministry's tendency to take that which belonged to others was only outstripped by the similar proclivities of Muggle governments. Hiding his rage at these turn of events would only offend his hosts, who appreciated honest displays of justified wrath.

Knowledge that the money and property stolen from him was siphoned off to Death Eaters to recoup their losses from bribing their way out of prison nearly made lose control of his magic.

A knock on the door interrupted his angsting.

"Ah. And now for the good news." Only it said as a surly looking Goblin youth handed him a stack of folders.

"Both estates did have investments in companies and stocks whose dividends have, up until now, been siphoned away by the Ministry." Inkgot explained.

Harry let a smile grace his face.

"And now that I can claim ownership all future dividends go to me?"

The older Goblins nodded.

"If you'd like we cab sell the stocks and bonds and open a vault to store the liquidated assets." Ragnok offered.

Harry looked at his friend in confusion.

"Now why would we want to do that?"

From what Harry knew about them, Goblins despised ' _hoarders_ ' as they were called. They believed that people with money should use that money to better the world. Not by giving it away to worthless charities that rarely achieve their goals, and more often than not achieve the exact opposite of their mission statements.

Fuck all that.

You loan money to create businesses that will hire people and drag them kicking and screaming out of poverty. You fund the research and development of new technology that will raise the standard of living to the point that the poor of today live better lives than the kings of yesterday. You fund projects and ambitions to rival the seven wonders of the ancient world and, succeed or fail, at least you can say you were part of something cool. That's how Goblins role!

So why was a Gringotts branch manager suggesting he abandons such efforts?

"Well, Mister Potter.."

"Morrigan." Harry corrected.

He needed an alias and it would serve him well to take the name he knew would entitle him to a seat on the Wizengomat and Hogwarts Board of Governors.

"Well, Mister Morrigan." Ragnok amended. "Most of your inherited investments have lost value due to recent market forces. We are required to recommend, for your financial benefit, that you abandon these investments."

Ah. So that was it.

"Director. We humans have a term for describing people who abandon bear markets for the safety of mattress stuffing. A term you might like."

Ragnok considered Harry for a moment.

"And what do you call them, Mister Morrigan?"

"Pussies."

Harry soon found himself practicing his new signature on a mountain of documents.

Harison Edward Morrigan had officially entered the game.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

I made a lot of changes in this chapter from the original story. Harry inheriting a metric kilotonne of money is lazy writing and boring storytelling. So I changed it. He barely earned anything from the effort in all honesty, but enough to start building something in this new world.

As for his name, Harry is using a variety of Harry as Harrison and took the middle name 'Edward' after his godson. Edward Lupin. You all remember him right? Son of Tonks and Remus? Metamorphmagus? Ringing any bells?

That's chapter four. I hope you all enjoyed.


	5. 5: An Impromptu Lesson

**Chapter 5:**

 **An Impromptu Lesson**

* * *

Olivander's shop had a self-enclosed garden similar to a courtyard.

Many of the things you could expect in a normal London garden mafe appearance there. Tea bushes, blackberry's, mint patches and leafy greens covered most available ground, but the real stars of the courtyard were the many trees keeping these food stuffs shaded from the harsh summer sun.

The ancient English oak towered at the very center of the garden with the smaller trees - fir, elm, yew, ash and maple among them - hugged the walls tightly, leaving barely enough room for the windows. Olivander also kept trees that weren't so native to the isles, but kept them as pygmy trees, made eternally small through the use of a bonsai potion and each kept in a plastic container to serve as a greenhouse.

The witch or wizard with a good eye would notice that every single tree in the garden and on every windowsill was of a type used for wand-crafting. What they might not know is that these specimens weren't particularly well-suited for use as wands, and weren't used for the wands Garrick himself made.

No, the old man kept them for his own personal study and served to help the wandmaker gain a sense of immersion to his craft. For meditative purposes.

Harry was out here for a similar purpose at the moment. He was meditating. Stretching his senses to feel the fine grain of bark, soft fabric of leaves and deep vining roots.

Trees, above and beyond all other things, are _magical._ All trees are magical. Trees feel. Trees think.

Even Muggles are capable of experiences the magic of trees. All you have to do is give one a great, big hug, and you will feel it.

Harry's ability to stretch out his senses into his surrounding came from his studying and meditating beside these very trees. Experiments with wandless magic in conjunction with his study and attempted reverse-engineering of the elder wand lead to him gaining the ability to grow his magical core to encompass the world around him and practically incorporate it into his being, just as these trees do.

When he discovered how to feel his core, his very magical essence he discovered that magic is alive. Magic is sentient. Magic remembers.

Trees also remember

To hold even the remains of a tree, as wood carved into furniture or a wand, opens the door to gain knowledge from them. To tap into their memories. It is one of the most useful functions of his sixth sense. It took a lot of practice, but speaking to the, what some eastern philosophies call kami, of an object or place can yield incredible knowledge.

With enough time he can see every person to have ever sat in a particular chair, or slept in a particular bed. It was practically postcognitive in it's application, and was his best method for comparing the history of this world to that of his own world.

These trees talked freely, as if they recognized him, and shared freely. Every difference he tried to glean seemed so minor that it didn't lead to many answers.

He would strive to search the histories of more important objects and places to find where their histories diverged, but thoroughly hoped they didn't diverge too greatly.

His list of objects and places whose kami he craved to speak with grew exponentially from including the desk in the oval office(and her sister), to the entirety of everything he had already spoken to in his own world.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Harry opened his eyes and turned to look at her, even though he didn't really need his eyes to see. Bellatrix Lestranges(Black? No ring on her finger, but there was a tan line for one.) was as immaculate as the first time he saw her in this universe. Hair? Perfect. Dress robes? Perfect. Nails and makeup? You get the picture.

"Just meditating. This garden is good for that." Harrison told her. "And for testing wands. Hopefully clearing blockages comes just as easily."

With that declaration, one meant to announce his intention to keep the encounter brief and professional, Harry rose to his feet.

"Now. Clearing a wand blockage is a simple, but dangerous affair. All you need to do is determine which spell caused the blockage and cast a spell of equal power but opposite wavelength." Harry explained. "Are you familiar with the wavelength of spells and their reactions with each other as described by the arithmetist John Vendile?"

"Er, remind me." Bellatrix said.

It was the kind of phrase one used when they didn't want to admit they did not know a thing. A small part of Harry, the part that couldn't separate this woman from the one who murdered his godfather, goaded him into teasing her for it. But no, there is a time to tease a woman and a time to be respectful.

"Well, simply put, all spells can be imagined to exist on a hexagon."

"Hexagon?"

"Hexagon. With each vertice, or point, representing one of the six types of spells. Charms, transfiguration, hexes, jinxes, curses and healing magic." Harry simplified. "Counter spells are really not a branch of magic so much as a reverse-engineered and wavelength swapped version of a particular spell. Some have surprising uses as spells in their own rights, but that is neither here nor there."

Bellatrix nodded in understanding.

"So if you cast a powerful transfiguration spell at somebody could they annihilate in mid flight by simply casting it's opposite?" She asked. "Kind of like a wand stream connection mid duel, but without the struggle over dominance?"

Harry had never thought of that.

Thinking back to the duel in the graveyard he knew that in a normal scenario where two spells intercepted, thereby connecting the wands, then the more powerful spell would simply rip through the other. Twin core interaction notwithstanding, what would happen if equally powerful, oppositely tuned spells intercepted?

"I suppose they would pretty much cancel each other not. Not necessarily annihilate like matter and antimatter if that's what you were imagining."

She actually blushed at that.

Clearly that's exactly what she was imagining. Could you imagine the energy released by two spells if they could actually undergo annihilation? Harry could. The conversion rate between magical energy and matter was close to infinite, hence conjuration, the art of creating matter from nothing. It would be like annihilating an entire chair or couch worth of atoms.

Goodbye Europe. And all life on Earth, really.

"But it's a moot point, in order to properly counter a spell so perfectly you'd have to be able to identify the spell being cast, know it's perfect opposite, cast that opposite and do so with the exact same amount of force as your opponent."

Bellatrix had a faraway look to her the more Harry explained.

Was she actually considering this as a possible tacted? He knew she was a professional dueler, so identifying her opponents spell as they cast it and casting one of her own was child's play. It was knowing how much force her opponent had put into it that she had no hope of knowing or countering.

But he could.

With that dangerous thought Harry came to mirror her glazed expression. He could! With a a little - okay a lot - of training as a duelist and even more experimentation he could easily obliterate a spell midflight with it's opposite. Hell, if the spell was weak enough he could do it wandlessly, morphing the magic around him into a perfect, specialized shield against specific hexes and jinxes. With enough experimentation he could use this method to craft a counter to the killing cur...

No! Bad thoughts!

It's a law of arithmetic every spellcrafter knows. Don't try to create counters to the unforgiveables. Too many people have wasted too many years of their lives trying.

"I think we're getting off track. All I need to know is what spell you used and, if we're lucky, it has a perfectly opposite spell you can cast to clear it."

She returned to reality, but adopted a more demure and hesitant posture. Harry found this thoroughly disturbing.

"It was a curse." She confessed.

"Good, that means you'll have to cast a charm to clear it, and charms are the most numerous of any branch of spells. So we are more likely to find a match."

She didn't offer any more specifics.

"And?"

"And what?"

"Which spell was it?!"

"I don't really wish to disclose that. Do you perchance have a hexagonal graph depicting every spell and it's opposite?"

"Yeah! In my head by way of arithmetic deduction!"

"Well pull it out of your head and put it in a pensieve! I'll figure it out myself!"

And so their shouting match continued. This was turning out to be terribly unproductive and unprofessional.

"Look." Harry stopped the arguement, taking a deep breath. "If you're worried I may judge you or report you if you tell me the specific spell, know that I have cast two of the unforgiveables before." He explained.

She seemed unimpressed.

"On people." He clarified.

She gasped. That was an incredibly stupid thing to confess to somebody. Life in azkaban and all that.

"Truly?"

"Yes."

 _And one of them was on you, you child-torturing, godfather-killing, cruciatus-slinging whor_... Deep breaths Harry. Deep breaths. This isn't her.

"So if it was an unforgiveable, I swear to you I will hold your confession sacred."

He gave her his most sympathetic smile and she positively melted. This had more to do with him attempting to influence her emotions through wandless manipulation of her aura than any inherent charm - the one thing Riddle hadn't seen fit to transfer to him - but it was still incredibly effective.

"Imperius." She said all but at a whisper.

"Excellent!" Harry clapped. "Because the other two don't have a counter. All you have to do to clear your wand is cast a patronus."

"A patronus?"

"A patronus."

"The patronus charm is the opposite of the Imperius?" She asked, sounding unconvinced.

"One protects the mind from dark influences of emotions, the other influences the mind through dark influencing emotions."

Most people didn't know that. The Imperius isn't a mind control spell, it's an emotion controlling spell. A thing it had in common the patronus, and the other unforgiveables, was that it's an enthused spell; a spell that works on emotion and plain old will to cast. No need for complicated wand motions. Just point and cast.

"But what if I can't cast the patronus?" She asked with a glare that seemed to be daring him to criticize her for her lack of ability.

"Then somebody else who the wand recognizes as it's master could do it. Has anybody ever bested you in a duel?"

She glared at him.

"Once or twice. It's part of being in a competitive sport."

"Then if you can't cast it, invite one of them to do so."

"No."

"Didn't think you'd go for that. In that case I'll just have to teach you the patronus."

She scowled at him.

"That could take weeks!"

"For most people it takes months."

"I'm not most people."

The cool, deep voice she said it in, beyond being sexy as all hell, left no doubt in Harry's mind that she wasn't overstating her ability.

"But I also started learning it already, but stopped." She confessed.

"Hm ? Why did you stop?"

She didn't answer right away.

"I... Experienced a berrier to casting it that I couldn't overcome."

She didn't need to explain further. Harry had a similar experience. It's hard to cast a spell that requires a happy memory, when you have so few to choose from and none powerful enough.

Fortunately he had the cure.

"I find... That it doesn't need to be a real memory to work." He explained slowly. "It can be a fantasy, a delusion, but it has to be a powerful one. Imaging a lost loved one alive and just... doing the normal daily routine with you is the one I see works most often."

She considered him thoughtfully.

"Like what? Household chores and mealtime talk?"

"That's exactly right!" He told her. "When we lose the people we love the thing we miss the most is just the comfort of their presence during the most mundane moments. By imagining that again we can cultivate the most brilliant light of happiness in our hearts."

As he explained it his mind turned to George, as it always did when he gave this speech. It was through this exact method that he'd helped the man who lost his other half regain the ability to cast the patronus. It was a spell he couldn't sleep without casting before bed after the war; a nightlight many of the survivors resorted to. Harry included.

"Expecto patronum." Bellatrix whispered.

Nothing came out of her wand. Not even the fizzle that could be expected if she had put too little or too much force into it to counter the blockage.

"Say it like you mean it!"

"Expecto patronum!"

There it was. A spatter of white and transparent sparks.

"Good. Do it again"

She did, and more sparks followed.

"You'll need to put more power behind it."

She did, and an outright fountain of magic sparks erupted.

"Good. From here you need to adjust how much to put into it. Right now you're putting a bit too much behind it."

And so began the tedious task of trying to incrementally decrease how much power she was putting into the spell to match that of the blockage. It helped that Harry could sense exactly how much it needed. It didn't help that it was impossible to convey that through words and so all he could do was instruct her to increase or decrease how much strength she was putting into it.

Her training as a duelist was a huge blessing to the endeavor. Most people can't judge how much magical power they were putting into their spells. Duelists were very good at it. Mostly because they ran endless drills where they varied the force behind their piercing, bludgeoning and cutting hexes at targets to create larger or more precise damage. Along with dodging, ducking, running, aiming, sidestepping, countercursing, blocking, quickcasting and spell identification drills. To name a few.

"You're really close, just.."

But his warning fell on deaf ears.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

A glorious white falcon erupted from the tip of her wand and rocketed across the courtyard with a loud bang!

Harry reeled from the sensation it had on his sixth sense, and it was only his experience fighting off the Imperius curse that prevented him from falling under it then and there. He was much more sensitive to some spells, like the imperius and cruciatus, when he had his magical senses stretched out.

If she had waited for his warning she would have known that the end result would have been an unnatural fusion of the original spell and the new one and he could have braced himself.

All the same, Harry had never seen a patronus so large or vibrant, but then again, he had never seen one cast through a wand blockage either. His own patronus when cast with the elder wand came close, but the sight of her falcon made Harry wish he'd have reserved the azkaban courtyard, because if any spell could kill a dementors, it was this one.

"I. We. Wow." Bellatrix, who had worked up a real sweat in the quarter hour of excuersion, fell to her knees.

Harry momentarily marveled at her ability to collapse into such a ladylike and poised position, before the eight foot tall falcon faded into a shower of sparks. If only he'd had the presence of mind to bring a gordian bottle to this meeting. He could have captured it for later experiments involving a caged lethifold.

"Takes a lot more out of you when you cast it successfully huh?" He asked as he offered the not-a-death-eater his arm.

He turned away from her as she wiped her face clean of tears, after all she was a warrior, and warriors demanded dignity. With that finished she grasped his elbow gently and allowed him to lift her up.

She patted out the wrinkles in her dress robes and bowed slightly, exactly as a noble lady of the ancient house of black would have been raised to do.

"Thank you, Mister Morrigan, for your services." She said graciously.

"Don't thank me yet. You haven't tested to see if the blockage is fully removed."

"I am confident that it is."

She was right, of course. He had stretched his senses back out the moment the imperionus(tm) faded, and the blockage was indeed gone.

"Please send an invoice with the price by owl to number twelve Grimmauld Place and I will ensure you receive proper compensation for your help."

Harry, jolted by the address given, didn't recall his manners until she already reached the door back into olivander's shop. He had to jog to catch up with her in order to do the proper thing and open it for her before leading her through the shop.

"Thank you for your patronage, and never shy away from coming to Ollivander or myself for help in the future." He said by way of goodbye as he held the front door open for her to leave.

She curtsied politely before exiting.

He closed the door intending to get a good look at her behind only to spot a young man with perfectly coiffed, platinum blonde hair approach Bellatrix. Harry could recognize Draco Malfoy in any dimension. God he completely forgot that they had once been kids.

Unable to resist, he held his hand to the glass panel of the door and altered his perception to instead feel the vibrations of the air outside. It took an immense amount of concentration, but with practice he had discovered how to "hear" conversations with his sixth sense too. It was still more of an art than a science.

"Thank you for your patience, Draco. Have you gathered all of your school things?" Bellatrix greeted her nephew.

"Yes auntie. Have you finished your platonic date with Ollivander's catamite?"

Aaaaaaand Harry was done eavesdropping for today.

You'd think he would be used to the wonderful and bizarre rumors that sprouted up in his wake by now, but Harry had hoped such things were behind him in another universe. Rumors of his batting for the other team were easily ignored when it arose due to his constant rejection of fangirls, but what stung about this one was how reasonable it was.

After all, what was everyone supposed to assume when a reclusive, elderly, never-married man suddenly had a handsome, slightly feminen young man working in his shop?

Harry cringed at the visuals. He'd have to make an effort to avoid any Hogwarts aged girls with fantasies about his homophilic tendencies in the future. What was yaoi again?

With a sigh he locked the front door and plopped down on the seat behind the counter. The notepad, pen and pile of newsoapers were all as he left them, and so he got back to work circling ads that interested him and writing down the pertinent information as he went.

"What in the blazes are you doing boy?"

Harry turned to Garrick with a glare.

The old man had really let his hygeine slip in last week. Spending fourteen hours in a pensieve each day and sleeping for the rest left little time for the man to shower and shave. Or eat, by the look of him.

He'd have to intervene soon enough for the wandmakers own good.

"I'm looking for a job, what the hell does it look like?" Harry snapped.

"It looks like a damn waste of time is what it looks like." Garrick snapped back

"And why is that?"

"Because who in their right mind is stupid enough to hire a man with no owl or newt scores, let alone history of any kind?"

Harry smirked as that question hung in the air. Soon enough the insinuated answer to that question dawned on his mentor.

"Oh you can kiss my ass. And after all I've done for you since you got stranded here." Garrick bemoaned as he threw his hands up in exasperation.

Harry chucked at the old man's expense, but relented.

"I know. I'm kinda up a creek without a paddle in that regard, but I have to try. You can't have expected me to apprentice under you and take over the shop when you eventually keel over."

Ollivander paused and made the oddest simpering sound as he motioned around the shop.

Oh. Apparently he _had_ expected Harry to do just that.

"Oh damn, I'm sorry old man." Harry said sincerely, getting up from his seat to put a comforting hand on Garrick's shoulder. He would have hugged him if it weren't for the smell. "I didn't mean to mislead you or anything, but wand-crafting really isn't in my blood. You'll find a proper apprentice soon, I've seen it."

And he had. Being trapped in the Malfoy dungeon with a loony girl had gained the Ollivander of his universe a brilliant, if odd, apprentice to impart his knowledge onto. An apprentice that Harry had enjoyed learning beside, and sleeping beside on a few occasions.

Back to the present Harry, come on!

"You're not going to tell me who?" Garrick pleaded in a sad whisper.

Harry grinned like a Cheshire cat.

"Nope. But I am going to make damn sure she finds her way to you." He promised.

Garrick snarled at that.

"Great. As if the rumors going around with you as my apprentice weren't bad enough, how bad are they going to be with a young woman down here?" He bemoaned aloud.

Harry hadn't thought of that. In his universe nobody would have dared make such a suggestion about the two, after what they'd gone through together. After the bravery they'd shown in the fight against Voldemort. **(A.N- 1)**

He suspected the people here wouldn't be nearly as understanding.

"A bridge we'll cross when we come to it. Now, is there any chance you can help me get a job to make some proper coin?"

Garrick wiped the self-pitying expression from his face and picked up the notepad of candidates.

"I can write an outstanding letter of recommendation, but good Lord is this a terrible job selection. Why are you picking such low-skilled jobs?" Garrick asked as he flipped through the notebook.

"Er, because I have no documentation or newt scores with which to apply for good jobs?" Harry asked pointedly.

Garrick turned from the notes and stared at him. It was that way of staring that always made Harry feel like he was being x-rayed. Examined like a product.

"I assume you are aware of recent and old attacks on the ministry of magic?" Garick started.

"Yeeees?" Harry confirmed hesitantly.

"Well, as you would expect when a building containing all of magical Britain's records is attacked, some peoples records have gone missing or were destroyed." He explained.

And then it clicked.

"So naturally it is our responsibility as citizens to inquire if our records were retained or if we need to go in and help replace them!" Harry concluded. "And retake exams if necessary."

Garrick beamed at him.

"Quite right. And if they ask why you waited so long to come in since this last attack, just give them a shpeel about how you wanted to avoid the chaos of other people immediately following the attack."

Sometimes things in life really do fall into your lap. Despite how good this prospect looked Harry still had to consider the downsides.

"I'm not so sure I want to retake my exams." He confessed. "Those examiners are good at gauging your abilities, no matter how hard you try to hide your skill."

Garrick looked at him inquisitively.

"And you don't want people think you're as exceptional as you are because?"

"Because certain actors may take an unhealthy interest in my abilities."

"Dumbledore?"

"Dumbledore."

In the end Harry decided to walk down to the owlery and mail an inquiry to the status of his non-existent documents all the same. When the negative response inevitably came back, it would be no time at all before he was called in to retake his exams.

It was time to hit the books again.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

Yup. I made it a HarryXBella pairing.

I've never seen it done well. It either ends up very weird, or very disturbing in the fanfiction I've read. If you know some that are well written feel free to share them, lord know I need inspiration to keep writing this here story.

I'm sorry for the long wait, I can't promise the next chapter will be out soon but I am writing more consistently now than ever before. So please stay tuned.

 **A.N- 1:**

Luna as Ollivander's successor is a concept I've only seen in one fanfiction. **Lost Time** by **Amerision**.

And it's a concept I couldn't get out of my head. Something about it makes perfect sense to me, so I added it here.


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